


tall beneath these trees

by dotdotmoon



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Bookstores, Gen, Russian Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotdotmoon/pseuds/dotdotmoon
Summary: On the day of his 27th birthday, Junmyeon learns that he is not the exception to the rule, that even in these dire times, he will get bound the witch way, like most before him.





	tall beneath these trees

**Author's Note:**

> used a prompt generator for this one, and an anon kindly supplied the pairing!
> 
> prompt:  
> setting: bookstore  
> genre: action/adventure  
> trope: marriage  
> prompt: building a home together/home improvements/nesting
> 
> (this is a sequel to a sukai witch au that i will write more than 500 words of... one day. junmyeon works nightshifts at a magic dollar store where he also writes romance novels. jongin attracts (un)helpful animals wherever he goes and comes in at the dead of the night to clean the store.)
> 
> 🎶 the fic title is a line borrowed from patrick wolf's 'wolf song'
> 
> extended content notes:  
> \- food mention towards the end  
> \- mentioned pairing but no!! romance!!!

"You'll like it," Junmyeon's mother said. "The question is if it will like you. I'm not too worried though."

She sounded certain, so Junmyeon tried not to let the location deter him. He swallowed his apprehension, continued trudging up the small mountain trail behind her. It was used so little, led them to cross small creaks and climb over old, collapsing fences, Junmyeon would have missed it if he'd gone by himself.

His mother had not lost a single word about where they were going, and it made him so nervous he wondered if she was bringing him to a temple to absolve him of the custom. It wasn't unheard of to plead the deities for lenience in the face of capitalism, and they were kind, understanding, granting it to whoever asked.  
Junmyeon hoped not. He'd pictured a throw tent, a doll house, a plastic doghouse, a lockable closet at best. Those were common gifts for the 27th year in recent times. Not quite what their ancestors used to hand down—humble cottages that unfolded into mansions when one set foot into them and fed them some magic, abodes filled with keepsakes doused in the memories and powers of generations—but still. They were sufficient for anyone with more magic than Junmyeon, to flood it, mend it, mould it into shape.  
He however would have leave it unused, would have to borrow a spot in someone's attic, put the sad reminder of his limitation away, carefully wrapped into an old curtain of shame. Would have to hope that the house owners would forget, that he'd move away, lose touch, forget too.  


The mountain was quiet beneath the layer of bird song, the wind in the trees, the sound of their footsteps. It set a small spark free inside Junmyeon, ignited hope against his better judgement. Maybe something was waiting for him here after all, a shabby mountain cabin or even just a small uninhabited cave, a hollow tree.

Jongin and him would both like it up here, and Jongin would be delighted if he could let their pet rabbits outside when he came over to work at Junmyeon's. Still, they both had friends, obligations, night jobs in the heart of the city and certainly couldn't afford commuting.

His mother stopped in the middle of a clearing, empty and so bright with sun it made Junmyeon's eyes hurt. His heartbeat seemed to trip over itself when she took his hand, pressed a small black key on a cool silver band into his palm.

"Call it," she told him when he looked at her quizzically.

Junmyeon turned the key in his hands, found that it was also a whistle. He blew the whistle once, shook it when no sound came out, then a second, a third time, until it hit him that the sound was inaudible to him. He opened his mouth to apologise for his impatience, the ignorance, didn't know to whom. Dense smoke escaped his mouth instead and he felt the low murmur of a spark against his magic—so it was a magical house. He squinted, batted at the smoke that hung in the air wobbling like pudding, made out the top of a small house poking through the trees. It pulled back, then shyly stepped into the clearing on bird legs. Junmyeon witch school visit had been brief, and he wouldn't have had to go to identify this type of house at sight.

He accidentally directed the smoke in her direction when he turned to his mother in disbelief but she quickly folded the smoke into a small bubble, sent it on its way skywards and simply smiled at him. "Mobile homes are quite popular among our folk these days. We made sure it's safe to use around the city, and it is, as long as you let it roam during new and full moons. All you need is a piece of land for it to settle down on. The roof of your apartment complex should work."

"Mom," Junmyeon said weakly, sudden hot tears in his eyes. Even just a cabin like this, a dedicated witch house, was too much, felt undeserved. Even if it looked as battered as he felt.

"All of your guardians chipped in. We know you can't save up." She didn't wipe the tears running down his cheeks but stepped closer, took hold of his empty hand to squeeze it lightly. "Don't worry about us," she added when she saw his face, "this one was an absolute bargain."

The magic of the house felt thick and comfortable, sizzled pleasantly in his veins as it approached cautiously, despite the distance between them. It almost tripped over a root then—he wanted to move in right away.

"Go, stand on the doorstep."

Whistle-key in his hand, he walked up to the house, drawn in by its magic and the way it leaned forward to greet him. He bowed carefully, as low as he could with his injured back. The house kneeled down on its bird legs in reply, bringing the lowest step to the ground. The wood creaked under Junmyeon's weight, and he almost fell when the house rose, scooping him up until he came to lie flat against the front door. He gripped the door handle, patted the wood with his other hand, knocked lightly. It tilted him upright, guided the key to its lock with a soft glow.

\-------

"Done with the ritual?" his mother asked when he found her crouched down, carefully coaxing a plant out of the ground, its roots slowly wrapping themselves around her wrist in consent.

"The ritual," Junmyeon repeated. Of course that was what it was—the dense magic alone should have tipped him off. He pressed a hand against his chest where his heart was still beating wild and unrestrained, unable to calm down.

"The bonding ritual," his mother said. "It can be a little dangerous but I knew you'd do well."

Junmyeon decided not to ask and look this one up later. He never wanted to know the details, shut out everyone talking about it, somehow assuming he'd skip the ceremony. With the way his mother smiled entirely at ease, like it could have gone very wrong, he probably shouldn't tell Jongin.

"What's with the bookshop?" he asked. The house's door had opened to several rooms, cosy but stuffed with wooden upholstered furniture looking like it belonged in a palace and overflowing bookshelves. A staircase lead up to the private quarters consisting of a bedroom seemingly carved out to fit a bed and only a bed under a roof window; a bath; several closets filled to the brim with clothes, tableware and knick-knacks; a quite luxurious kitchen with a balcony that looked like it liked to grow its own vegetables.

"Isn't it great? Jongin will love it, there's an entire room dedicated to magically illustrated picture books. They sell yours, too, they're on the shelf right behind the counter," his mother replied.

"My books don't sell well, that's why," Junmyeon said, embarrassed. He still recalled a bookseller calling him to order a pile of print editions, insisting they could not offer their customers e-books. He'd had them printed on demand, dropped them off at a train station in the middle of nowhere and never heard from them again once they'd paid.

"Sehunnie agreed to help you with selling the books to free up some space," his mother said.

"Sehun knew?" Junmyeon remembered the year Sehun visited and was simply supposed to watch over the funfair stand while they all got lunch. They'd sold out of the caramel apples and chocobananas meant to last two days within the half hour they were gone.

"You're the last one to know."

"Even Jongin? —As always," he choked out, barely able to breathe with gratitude and love as heavy as stone enveloping him.

"As always," his mother confirmed, and this time, the sight of his tears made her cry too.

**Author's Note:**

> i talked enough for this one already, so, as usual:
> 
> ty for reading 🚪  
> please let me know if it made you feel anything
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/fakeclover) | [cc](http://curiouscat.me/fakeclover)


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